


The Fruit Curiosity Yields

by SomewhereFlying



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereFlying/pseuds/SomewhereFlying
Summary: Joker’s costume has a secret so absurd that Akechi won’t believe it until he sees it for himself.The demonstration ends up being a bit more hands-on than he was expecting.





	The Fruit Curiosity Yields

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not gonna lie this is pretty self-indulgent. **Spoilers** for all of November.

* * *

 

What a troublesome place Sae’s palace was turning out to be.

Akechi had visited it briefly before he infiltrated the Phantom Thieves, so he had expected the casino motif, the rigged games and restricted floors, but he hadn’t made more than a very shallow exploration, lest he draw the attention of Sae’s shadow. Now that he was able to investigate properly, it was proving to be far more labyrinthine than he would have thought.

This trial in particular was testing his patience. Not only was the maze pitch-black and crawling with shadows, but the hallways were uncomfortably narrow, broken up by the even tighter air vents that Joker thought would make good shortcuts. Not that Akechi could tell one way or the other, because as much as he tried, he couldn’t see a damn thing in this maze, and yet _somehow_ Akira was walking around as if it was daylight, still getting the drop on shadows, still taking the time to loot treasure. It was kind of infuriating.

When they toppled out of yet another air vent, Joker stopped the team to regroup. This chamber was brighter than the hallways, but still only dimly-lit, and it was hard to tell where the light was coming from. While everyone else broke off into small groups to chat, Akechi busied himself by searching for the source, eventually deciding that the ceiling was faintly backlit, glowing in the same way that the sky did after the sun had fully set below the horizon.

He was so distracted by his self-imposed task that he startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Akira said, and he gave Akechi’s shoulder an apologetic squeeze before he let go. “Mona found a few exits in here, and I want to scout ahead with a smaller group. You up for it?”

“Oh, I see,” Akechi said. He brushed a hand over his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles Akira had made, and nodded agreeably. “Very well then.”

He thought he saw Akira smile, but in the dark, it was hard to tell.

After a few minutes of healing and item-swapping, he and Akira were off and crawling through another air vent, Akira leading the way with his supernatural night vision. No one else came on the scouting mission. Akechi knew why. The others didn’t trust him. It didn’t bother him at all, but it must have put Akira in a difficult position – either leave Akechi with the group where more people could keep an eye on him, or take the shady newcomer himself and leave the others with the comfort that Akechi was under the watchful eye of their leader.

Akechi watched Akira’s coattails drag along the vent floor in front of him. He was certainly strange, their leader, who barely seemed to acknowledge or even notice the tension between Akechi and the other Thieves. Was he just dense? There was no way Akechi would believe that; Akira was far too sharp in battle to miss little social cues like that, not when the other Thieves made their dislike of Akechi so obvious.

Yet Akira seemed honestly, genuinely interested in Akechi, in both getting to know him and making him feel like he was welcome among the Thieves, as foolhardy as he surely knew that was. The others might not have approved, but if Akira wanted Akechi around, there was nothing they could do about it; that was the luxury afforded to Akira as their leader. It made Akechi feel a little smug, sometimes.

“Exit’s coming up,” Akira called back quietly. He was always good about that, like he knew no one else could see as well as he could, and he gave plentiful verbal instructions to help guide them around the maze.

“Understood,” Akechi replied.

Not a minute later, Akira was pulling himself out of the vent, reaching a hand back in to assist Akechi to his feet. Akechi stood, brushed some dust off of his pant legs, and looked around as best he could. They were in a hallway, according to Akira, and Akechi thought he believed that. He could sense empty space to his left and right, but the darkness in front of him looked solid.

“I think there’s something this way,” Akira said, his hand on Akechi’s arm this time, gently tugging on his coat to guide him to the left. Akechi frowned, but didn’t say anything. Akira could be very touchy when he wanted to be.

(Akechi didn’t notice him extending the gesture to his other teammates much, though.)

“We can head left and then double back around to the right before we leave,” Akira added.

“It’s your call, Leader,” Akechi said, and he resisted the urge to sneer at the title, because Akira would definitely see. “But a thorough exploration seems best, doesn’t it?”

“Agreed,” Akira said.

They made their way down the hall, twisting and turning through the maze, and while there were a few shadows prowling around, Akira was deft enough to avoid them. Akechi thought he was almost overly cautious, more so than usual, keeping closer to Akechi than seemed strictly necessary. He wanted to be angry about it, wanted to call Akira out on treating him like a weakling, but couldn’t find the words to do it.

Perhaps such precaution was simply necessary when traveling as a pair.

The hallway bent to the left again after a few yards, and Akechi was trailing Akira by a few feet when he heard him announce, “It’s a dead-end.”

“Oh? What a shame,” Akechi said, barely managing to sound interested.

Somehow, that made Akira laugh. He pressed himself close to the wall, a motion Akechi mimicked, and found they were looking at a small alcove with a treasure chest – a proper treasure chest, glittering and golden and shining like a beacon in the dark, unlike the briefcases and odd trophies they’d found elsewhere in Sae’s palace.

“It looks locked,” Akira said, sweeping around the corner and approaching the chest. “Cover me?”

“Mm,” Akechi made an affirmative noise and took up position with his back to Akira. He heard the gentle click of a lockpick as Akira got to work.

Akechi kept quiet and let him focus. He found it easy to be quiet around Akira – not just in the Metaverse, where silence seemed prudent, but at Leblanc as well, when Akira was brewing coffee and Akechi was idly leafing through his work. It was a rare occurrence for Akechi, who found himself taking advantage of that comfortable silence often… maybe more often than he should. He tried to think about how many evenings he’d wasted at Leblanc this week. It was easier to count the nights he’d gone straight home.

And he’d tried to keep his distance, he really had. Akechi had known what he would have to do to Akira for months now. But back before then, before Shido had decreed that the leader of the Phantom Thieves had to die, Akechi had grown to enjoy Akira’s company, and it was hard to discard that sentiment.

It was impossible, in fact, now that Akechi had joined the team – not with the way Akira crowded Akechi’s space while they took cover from enemies, with the way he paid Akechi so much attention after fights, more than he did the other Thieves, more than could be explained away as a leader keeping an eye on a newcomer…

But it was fine, Akechi told himself. It wasn’t like it was going to last forever.

Something interrupted the rhythmic sound of Akira’s lockpick and caught Akechi’s attention. He narrowed his eyes and focused, and heard a shuffling noise coming from down the hallway. It sounded close.

“Joker,” Akechi said in an urgent whisper, “there’s something coming.”

“Almost done,” Akira said.

Akechi readied his sword just as the lumbering shadow came around the corner. It looked like a security guard, walking with a hunchback and brandishing a hefty club. It hadn’t noticed them yet, but it was only a matter of time now.

“Joker!” Akechi snapped, right as the shadow honed in on him, and in an instant, Akira was by his side.

“I’m here,” Akira said. “Ready?”

The shadow guard bent over backwards and snapped its back, and out spilled a pair of wriggling, dancing witches, wild black hair billowing around behind them. They brought light with them, fire-bright white orbs hanging a few feet up in the air, which was a small blessing, though it had Akechi squinting for the first round of battle.

They had fought these creatures before, and Akechi was easily able to hone in on their weaknesses and end the battle in short order. Akira wrangled a couple thousand yen out of them and then sent them packing, and as they disappeared into the darkness, the lights went with them. As brief as the fight had been, Akechi’s night vision was now completely shot, and he blinked twice in quick succession, but to no avail. It seemed he would be relying on Akira’s guidance to get back, too.

“Well?” Akechi asked once the dust had settled. “What did you get?”

“From the chest? I wish I could tell you,” Akira said. Akechi heard the sound of him holstering his gun. “Remind me to show you when we get out of here, maybe you’ll have an idea…” There was a short pause, and then Akira sighed. “Well, I guess that’s all there is. I’m glad I didn’t drag the whole team out here for a couple of shadows and… whatever this thing is,” he said, twirling the treasure around his finger.

“Indeed, you only had to drag me,” Akechi quipped.

“I’m sorry,” Akira said, his voice dropping its levity almost immediately. “I know I could have asked someone else, but…”

Akechi laughed, and he wondered if it sounded as hollow as it felt. “I was only kidding. I assure you, Joker, you’d never be able to drag me somewhere I didn’t want to go,” he said. “Still, it would be best not to linger, wouldn’t you agree?”

He took a shaky step forward, his sight having improved significantly already, although he still felt like he had a blindfold on.

“Crow, careful—”

Akira warned him, but it was too late; Akechi felt his foot catch on something unseen on the ground. What had this room looked like again? The maze didn’t have much debris lying around, thankfully, but the hidden corners that held treasure were more cluttered… It didn’t matter, because Akechi was already toppling to the ground, bringing Akira down with him. They were both alert enough to break their falls, but Akechi still hit the floor hard enough for it to sting.

“I’m so sorry,” Akechi began at once. “I’d forgotten the layout of the room, and…” He paused. They were awfully close now, close and touching, Akechi bearing down on Akira, who must have been knocked flat on his back.

“Hey,” Akira began, his voice strained. He was trying to sit up, fidgeting impatiently underneath Akechi. “Could you…?”

“Of course, let me just—” but then Akechi stopped. He shifted down in order to push himself to his feet again, and in doing so had unwittingly pressed himself closer to Akira. It would have been a simple enough gesture to ignore, except that his knee landed between Akira’s thighs, and Akira’s breath caught for a half-second, and that’s when he realized.

“Are… are you _hard?_ ” Akechi asked, bewildered.

He pushed himself up, stumbling a few steps away. He could hear Akira scrambling to his feet.

“Wait, Crow – wait!” Akira called, though Akechi feigned ignoring him. It didn’t help; a second later he felt Akira’s hand grab his wrist and tug, silently begging him to stop. Akechi relented – not that he would have gotten far in the dark, anyway – and turned to face Akira with a frown, a look he knew Akira could see clearly.

“Crow,” Akira started again, “listen. It’s not what you think.”

Akechi nearly laughed, turning it into a scoff midway through. “And what do I think it is, then? Trust me when I say I have no idea.”

“It’s not…” Akechi heard Akira scuff his heel against the floor. “It’s not from the fighting.”

Oh. Akechi supposed that made sense; they had just finished taking down a group of shadows, so the proximity between their fight and Akira’s _condition_ certainly suggested a connection. That thought had never crossed Akechi’s mind, though, as Akira didn’t seem the type to take pleasure (of _any_ sort) in violence.

Out loud, Akechi said: “I didn’t think that. Correlation doesn’t imply causation, after all.”

“It’s not because of a teammate, either,” Akira said, and Akechi opted not to respond. Good, Akira wasn’t fantasizing about someone during battle. Did he want a medal?

“It’s just…” Akira bit back a frustrated sigh. “Part of my outfit,” he finally said.

Akechi blinked. “Joker’s costume, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Joker’s costume turns you on,” Akechi said flatly.

“Just a part of it,” Akira corrected him, a slight hint of indignity tingeing his voice. “Look, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Of course,” Akechi said, nodding for lack of anything else to say.

“And I’m really sorry,” Akira added, finally letting go of Akechi’s wrist. “It won’t happen again.”

Akechi sighed and waved his newly-freed hand. “It’s nothing to apologize for,” he said. “I fell onto you, after all. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“Thanks,” Akira said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Oh and, um…” There was that sigh again – embarrassment? Resignation? Akechi just wasn’t sure – “No one else knows about it. About what I just told you. So if you could, y’know...”

“I won’t say a word,” Akechi promised.

Akira seemed placated, and he began to lead the way back through the corridors. Akechi followed him without much thought, his mind far too preoccupied trying to solve the new and very stupid mystery of what the hell Akira’s confession meant. Why would he admit to something like that when he could just lie? Or wait – a thought suddenly came to Akechi – maybe he _was_ lying, saying something ridiculous to get inside Akechi’s head. Well, it was certainly working.

But… he couldn’t lie about being hard; that had been very real. So, he was telling the truth. In that case, what part of his costume could he possibly find sexy? Was it the mask? Anonymity had a certain intoxicating appeal to it, a way to hide your shame and act more boldly that you would normally. Of course, all the Thieves knew well enough who Akira was, so perhaps it wasn’t quite as alluring.

Maybe the boots? Joker seemed to have heels on his boots – nothing significant, obviously, or his movement through palaces would be severely hampered – but a heel all the same. Heels were supposed to be sexy, right? Akechi didn’t really know.

Or perhaps it was the gloves. Joker’s gloves looked like leather, not too different from the kind Akechi wore in reality, and those were fairly high quality. Akechi could see the appeal in them: the feeling of leather, worn soft from use, gently caressing bare skin as you wrapped a hand around your own cock… or someone else’s.

…Not that _he_ felt like that, but Akechi could understand why someone might find such things arousing.

It was driving him mad, and every time he tried to discard the thought, it returned to him twice as strong. Finally, when they were just about to enter the air vent that would lead them back to the Thieves, Akechi swallowed his pride and spoke up.

“Joker,” he said, whispering without really meaning to; the maze seemed best suited to hushed tones of voice. “Forgive my detective’s curiosity, but I have to know… what part of your costume could you possibly find so enticing?”

His question hung in the air for a long moment, and Akechi cursed the darkness that hid Akira’s face from him. He wanted desperately to see Akira’s reaction, if he was repulsed, amused, or even simply embarrassed.

Then Akira laughed a low, whispery laugh. “What else?” he asked, his voice somehow deathly quiet yet right in Akechi’s ear. “It’s the underwear.”

_What the fuck_ , Akechi thought. _What the_ fuck _does that mean_. He was momentarily stunned to silence, but he couldn’t break character yet, so he forced himself to smile awkwardly and say, “Ah, of course. Almost silly of me to ask,” before he followed Akira back into the air vent.

When he had ditched the Thieves for the evening, Akechi returned to Mementos on his own and carefully undid his own pants because maybe that was just how it was in the Metaverse, but found he was wearing perfectly practical underwear, which just left him with the question: what the fuck was Joker wearing?

 

* * *

 

Akechi really couldn’t get Akira out of his head.

He never could, not lately, but this was so much worse than spending sleepless nights anticipating Akira’s arrest, imagining what he would look like with blood dripping down his forehead, twisting his stomach into knots thinking about the weight of the gun in his hand and how it would feel. Akechi was so, so close to succeeding, and this should have been the easiest time in the world for him, except…

Except when he was around Akira, he stopped thinking rationally. When he was around Akira, his head would get fuzzy and warm, and he would stop thinking about his plans, about his future, about his _responsibilities_ , because he could only think about the boy in front of him. Akira made him laugh too loud and smile too wide.

And now he couldn’t stop thinking about – couldn’t stop picturing Akira wearing – and it was _hell_.

He looked down at the unsent message on his phone.

There was no way another visit to the Metaverse would crop up organically. They had discovered Sae’s treasure, so there was no reason to return there until they sent the calling card, and after that… Akira would be dead. If he didn’t take the time to find out now, he’d lose his chance forever.

Before he could lose his nerve, he pressed send.

**> >Goro Akechi:** Kurusu-kun, could I ask a favor of you?

Akira responded much faster than Akechi had been expecting; he had barely set down his phone before it was vibrating with a new message.

**> >Akira Kurusu:** Sure. What’s up?

**> >Goro Akechi:** When we last traveled to Mementos, it seemed that you were seeking out shadows at the request of others.  
**> >Goro Akechi:** If I said I had a request like that, do you think you would be able to help me?

**> >Akira Kurusu:** Sure thing. I’ll tell the others and we can set up a day to go to Mementos.

Akechi frowned. He knew Akira was going to suggest that.

**> >Goro Akechi:** Actually…  
**> >Goro Akechi:** I’d prefer it if you were the only one to accompany me.  
**> >Goro Akechi:** The request is of a… personal nature.  
**> >Goro Akechi:** I apologize. I realize the danger in asking this.

Akira’s reply took longer this time. Akechi’s brain was humming with nervous energy.

**> >Akira Kurusu:** We can do that.  
**> >Akira Kurusu:** I’ve done a duo run before.  
**> >Akira Kurusu:** We’ll just need to be careful.

**> >Goro Akechi:** Of course. Thank you, Kurusu.  
**> >Goro Akechi:** It’s nothing pressing. Just let me know when works best for you.

**> >Akira Kurusu:** Got it. Give me a day or two.

Akechi sighed, sinking down onto his bed and letting his phone drop from his hand.

He wondered how long it would take before he came to regret this.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Akechi was walking into Mementos alongside Akira. The weather was still and cloudy, and the Metaverse seemed particularly quiet. It was a good day, Akira had said – a safe day. They wouldn’t have to worry about aggressive shadows, even if they went farther down. Akechi had smiled and complimented Akira on his thoughtfulness, without bothering to mention he wasn’t expecting to run into any shadows, period.

“Thank you for taking time to do this for me, Joker,” Akechi said as they made their way into the cognitive subway.

“No problem,” Akira said. Akechi looked at him sideways and saw him smile. “I’m glad you trust me enough to help you.”

Ha. Lies and lies. This had nothing to do with trust. Still, Akechi let Akira lead him through the entrance and down the first set of stairs into Mementos proper. Akira always lingered at the surface, staring off into the distance like he was looking at something the others couldn’t see, so Akechi didn’t want to stop Akira there, where he might be more hesitant. Too far into Mementos, though, and they really would be in danger; no, it had to be right here, right now.

Akira took a few steps past the stairwell and stopped, raising his arms over his head and stretching casually. He threw a look over his shoulder at Akechi. “So,” he said, “where are we going?”

Akechi took his time walking over to Akira. He could still chicken out, if he wanted to. He could make something up and take Akira on some pointless goose chase through Mementos, and Akira wouldn’t know any better… but instead, Akechi moved to face Akira head on.

“We’re here,” he said.

Akira’s eyebrows rose up above his mask, but otherwise he didn’t visibly react. “Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yes,” Akechi replied. He was glad for his mask; he could already feel himself getting flustered. “I want you to show me what’s under your costume,” he said, before he could stop himself.

There was a long, weighty pause.

“…what?” Akira asked.

_Idiot_ , Akechi thought, and he wasn’t sure if he was thinking of Akira or himself. “Did you forget our conversation?” Akechi asked, a smile coming to his face, one he couldn’t be bothered to disguise as anything innocent. “About what you’re wearing in here. Well, I think you’re lying. Prove to me that you aren’t.”

He spoke the words like a dare and hoped his bravado would cover the inanity of his request. He was embarrassed to admit he’d given a single conversation so much thought, even more so when he considered the topic… but so what? What was the worst Akira would do, tease him? Akechi could endure the shame for just a little while… he had shouldered much worse sentiments towards himself for far longer.

He held his breath, waiting for Akira to show some kind of reaction.

Then Akira chuckled and – Akechi had to blink to make sure he wasn’t imagining it – started to _unlatch his belt_.

“Been thinking about this for a while, Akechi-kun?” he asked, his voice sugary-sweet and dripping with amusement. He had a sharp, toothy smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Akechi muttered. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “You’re the one who brought it up… what was I supposed to do?”

_Anything but this_ , Akechi answered himself… but then again, Akira was playing along, wasn’t he?

“If I had known it was going to get to you so badly, I’d have shown you back in the maze,” Akira said. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t have worked, exactly…” he added as an afterthought.

Akira loosened his belt enough that he could undo one button, then two, and then he was sliding his gloved hands beneath the fabric, nudging his slacks down. Akechi found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Akira’s waistband as it traveled lower and lower, unveiling more and more skin, passing over the gentle curve of Akira’s hipbone, and… surely this was too much? He was wearing _something_ , right?

But then Akira made one final push, revealing a pair of lacy black panties riding low on his hips.

It was more than Akechi could have imagined.

Akira held his pants loosely around his thighs while Akechi stared openly. The garment kept everything covered up, but only just so; a perfect triangle of shiny black satin with just a bare wisp of dark, curly pubic hair poking up from under the top. Akechi’s eyes followed the thread as it thinned out, first into transparent lace, then into nothing more than a ribbon that looped back around Akira’s hips.

There were little white bows tied on the sides.

“It can’t be comfortable,” was the first coherent thought Akechi could put together. “To fight in, I mean.”

“It’s… normal, I guess,” Akira said after a moment’s thought. “It doesn’t bunch up or anything. Actually, it… it fits me really well.”

“And your costume just… came like this. From the very beginning,” Akechi stated more than asked.

Akira nodded. Akechi opened his mouth and shut it again.

“… _why_?” he asked.

Akira laughed. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “I guess this is what I think a rebel looks like?”

“Oh,” Akechi said. He wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not.

“Usually it’s easy to ignore,” Akira continued, for want of something to fill the air other than silence. “Back in Sae’s palace, though, with how much crawling we were doing, I just…”

“Right,” Akechi said. Friction. “What does it feel like?” he asked.

Akira clicked his tongue and didn’t answer at first. “Soft,” he finally said. “And… good. Really good.” He shifted in place, his thighs pressed together almost shyly, Akechi thought. He gave a nearly-imperceptible sigh, carefully disguised as a laugh. “But I guess I already made that obvious, right?”

Akechi nodded, only half listening. His mind was whirling itself into a frenzy, because this was _insane_ , wasn’t it? Not only that Akechi had made such a request in the first place, but that Akira had agreed to it, and now he was right here, practically presenting himself, as if he was daring Akechi to look without touching… And then there was the way Akira had been so touchy lately, like he was trying to drop some kind of hint for Akechi – that had to mean something, didn’t it? Or was that just his imagination?

For a moment, he didn’t care. Akechi was standing close enough that he could easily reach out and press his fingers against Akira’s hip, gliding the pads of his fingers over the silken fabric, transfixed at how smooth it was, tracing a line down Akira’s hipbone until he just barely brushed against the outline of his cock.

As if he had been burned, Akechi retracted his hand. He snapped his eyes up to Akira’s face.

“I’m – I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “I acted without thinking, and I –“

What had he hoped to accomplish? To feel the fabric, when he was wearing gloves? He hadn’t thought ahead even a few seconds beyond the present; _‘I want to touch’_ was as far as his brain got before he moved his hand. He didn’t even know how he was going to finish that thought – to touch the panties, or touch Akira?

Despite this, Akira seemed to take things in stride, laughing brightly and pulling his pants back up. “It’s okay, it’s fine,” Akira assured him, while he buttoned himself up again. Still, Akechi could tell he’d put a crack in Akira’s unflappable armor, if the light blush visible under his mask was anything to go by.

Once Akira was decent again, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to look nonchalant. “Well, now you know,” he said, and grinned. “Don’t blackmail me with this, okay?”

_No need,_ Akechi thought. _I’m done with that now,_ but outwardly he smiled and said, “After you granted me my request? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Well, if that was really all you wanted, we should go ahead and get out of here,” Akira said. “We still have most of the afternoon ahead of us.”

Together, they took to the stairs, Akechi keeping his eyes firmly on the ground. All in all, this trip really had been a wash, and all Akechi had to show for it was a hot, shameful flush on his face and an odd tingle on back of his neck. He fully intended to walk straight out of Mementos, part ways with Akira, and then work on forgetting the afternoon ever happened, but when he reached the top of the stairs, Akira stopped him.

“Hey,” he said, accompanied by the now-familiar feeling of a hand coming to rest on Akechi’s shoulder. “Do you want to know what it’s like?”

He didn’t clarify, but given the timing, there was really only one thing he could be talking about. Akechi scowled, even as he felt heat rising to his cheeks. “I am _not_ swapping costumes with you, Joker,” he said.

Akira dropped his hand and laughed, just a little. “No, not – not here. I meant out there,” he said, jabbing his hand back towards the entrance to Mementos. He lowered his voice, although there was no one there to overhear. “I liked this so much, so I…” he shrugged, “bought some for myself. A – a couple of pairs, actually. So, y’know… if you haven’t satisfied your curiosity yet, then…”

Akechi could sense the mockery hidden in that statement and was ready to make a retort, but then he made the mistake of looking at Akira, and when he looked back at Akechi, his tongue just barely darting out to wet his lips, any objections Akechi had dissolved on the spot. He swallowed.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

The walk back to Leblanc was one of the first awkward silences Akechi could remember having between himself and Akira, Akechi too busy trying to steady his nerves to hold a conversation. He very nearly bolted as soon as they arrived at Leblanc and he realized they would have to walk past Sakura-san, who was reclining against the counter and puffing on the dregs of a cigarette, and who turned to give them a wave and a raised eyebrow as they entered.

Surely, Akechi thought, the apprehension and embarrassment were plain on his face, but Akira simply waved back and continued straight to the stairs, offering no explanation to their motives or plans. By the time they reached the stairwell, Sojiro had already turned his attention back to the TV, a fresh cigarette sitting yet unlit between his fingers.

“Where’s Morgana?” Akechi asked as he entered Akira’s attic-room. Usually the cat was a regular fixture on the bed, or else a permanent accessory in Akira’s messenger bag, but he was nowhere to be found today.

“Haru’s place,” Akira said. “He’s been spending more time with her since…” he trailed off, and Akechi felt a flash of nausea. “I think he doesn’t want her to be alone. I just asked her if she’d keep him for dinner.”

“How convenient,” Akechi said. He wondered when Akira had sent that text. It had to have been after they returned from Mementos, but Akechi hadn’t seen him on his phone… Not that he should be complaining, Akechi thought; he didn’t much care about the cat one way or the other, but he was mortified by the thought of someone – even a sentient cat – walking in to see this.

Whatever “this” was turning out to be.

Akechi stood awkwardly in front of Akira’s bed while Akira produced not just one, but three pairs of panties for Akechi’s perusal: white, black, and red. They were all of a similar shape, just with small variations between them; the white was lacier than the others and much more sheer, while the black was probably the simplest, and as for the red…

They probably had the most substance to them, mostly opaque but a little see-through around the sides like Joker’s had been, with some lace detailing along the top, but nothing extravagant. They were dark, dark red (blood red, Akechi’s mind supplied for him) but they shimmered like satin, the end result being that they looked quite elegant, given what they were.

“Where did you get these?” Akechi asked in the most conversational tone he could muster.

“Internet, mostly,” Akira said, “except for the first.” He gestured at the black pair. “I needed to learn what fit right. Shipping everything back would have been a pain, so…”

“Ah,” Akechi said, because that was all he could manage; his mind was going fuzzy picturing Akira dipping into some crowded department store in Shibuya, gathering up a half-dozen sizes and styles, and maybe some sickeningly-sweet present boys would buy their girlfriends so that he wouldn’t get weird looks at checkout; Akira here, in this attic, trying on panties until he found a pair he liked, maybe even stopping halfway through to take care of himself, because he couldn’t very well return a pair if it was stained with pre-come…

Akechi shook his head surreptitiously, trying to dislodge the fantasy from his mind. He wasn’t here for that, he reminded himself, wasn’t here for Akira; he was just here because…

Because he was curious. Because he was a detective. Because he followed through on his leads.

Akechi snatched up the dark crimson pair and looked over his shoulder. While he had been lost in his thoughts, Akira had wandered over towards the window, which he admirably pretended to look out, though his eyes kept drifting back to the bed, or to Akechi. When he caught Akechi looking, he held his gaze.

“Turn around,” Akechi said.

Akira shifted to lean back on one foot. “Seriously?” he asked.

“Y-yes, seriously!” Akechi bristled. The only other place he could change would be the bathroom all the way down in Leblanc, which was absolutely out of the question. “At least allow me to retain a modicum of dignity.”

Akira blew out an amused breath, but he complied and turned around.

Akechi felt his heart hammering loud in his chest and he took a slow breath, willing himself to calm down. This was nothing, Akira was _nothing_ , but nonetheless Akechi’s hands trembled as he removed his gloves, unbuckled his belt, and let his pants drop to his ankles.

He glanced over his shoulder. Akira still wasn’t watching.

As he stepped out of his clothes, Akechi briefly worried that garment would stretch when he pulled it up his hips, but the fabric had a little give to it and he and Akira were about the same size, so his fears ended up being unfounded.

The sensation was new and different but not unpleasant. Akechi didn’t know what the panties were made of, but they were silky-soft and cool against his skin where they sat snugly around his hips. He ran his fingers over the fabric, lightly skimming over his cock, which sent an unexpected shiver of pleasure straight through his core. He pulled back his hand, curling his fingers into a fist.

_This… could be bad._

“Well?” Akira prompted, shaking Akechi out of his own mind.

“It’s… it’s not bad,” Akechi finally said. “It’s soft. You were right.” The air in the attic was almost uncomfortably cold without pants, Akechi realized, and the heat growing under his skin wasn’t enough to keep him from shivering. He turned around. “How does it, um…”

He trailed off, partly for realizing what words were about to come out of his mouth, and partly because he found that Akira had already turned back around. He dutifully snapped his eyes up to Akechi’s face, but it was obvious from the blush staining his cheeks that he'd been staring.

“Not – not bad,” Akira agreed. He cleared his throat and took a tentative step in Akechi’s direction. “Can I try something?”

Akechi frowned; he didn’t like how vague that statement was. “Try what?” he asked.

Another step forward, and Akechi thought the attic must have been smaller than it seemed if Akira was this close already. “I just want to unbutton your shirt,” Akira said.

“Oh,” Akechi said. “I could take care of—” Akira didn’t seem to care; as soon as he had implicit permission, his hands were on Akechi’s chest.

They were skirting dangerous territory now, Akira’s deft fingers making quick work first of Akechi’s tie, left to hang loosely around his neck, and then his shirt buttons. It was a little humiliating, but Akechi let him do as he pleased.

_If he wants to see me so badly, he can_ work _for it._

The thought scared him a little. The way Akira seemed almost eager, as if he’d been looking forward to this, the way his want was etched so plainly on his face… it was strange. It stirred something in Akechi’s chest, something he tried to ignore.

This wasn’t something he wanted, Akechi told himself. This was just something that was… happening to him.

Having his shirt open left his chest exposed, a feeling Akechi thought he would hate – he didn’t want to feel _vulnerable_ , especially not around Akira of all people – but instead it just made his breath come quicker, his pulse just a bit faster. The way Akira’s hand lingered as he adjusted the ends of Akechi’s shirt, fingertips brushing against his side, did nothing to help.

“Shit,” Akira murmured, his voice low and thick, and that sound was enough to banish the chill from Akechi’s bones, replaced with an all too sudden crash of heat that surged through his limbs. Akira took a step back, gave him a long once-over, and said, “You should see yourself.” He seized the hem of Akechi’s shirt and started walking backwards, tugging and urging him to follow.

They stopped in front of an old mirror that was hanging on one of the walls, something that had probably been there far longer than Akira had. It was cloudy with age and lightly coated in dust, but it served its purpose. They were far enough away that Akechi could see most of his reflection, and he felt a lump in his throat when he finally caught a glimpse of himself, looking so unfamiliar and exposed that he could hard meet his own gaze. Akira guided him until he was facing the mirror at a very gentle diagonal – a flattering angle, Akechi had to admit.

“Pretty good, huh?” Akira asked.

Akechi tried to swallow. The fabric of his shirt felt particularly flimsy when it was hanging limply over his frame, and the lace – he might as well have been wearing nothing with how little it did to cover him up. Although, he thought, the fact that he was half-hard and getting more worked up by the second wasn’t helping matters, either.

He thought he understood Akira a little better now. Wearing something like this under an unassuming outfit, or even an outlandish outfit like Joker’s, a secret in plain sight… it was exhilarating.

Oh, and then there was _Akira_.

Akira, who was so close behind him, maddeningly close but purposefully not touching, close enough that Akechi could feel his body heat and if he leaned a half-inch backwards, he’d be pressing warm against Akira’s chest. If he got close enough, he might even be able to tell if Akira was hard again, like he had been back in the maze.

But he didn’t want that, Akechi reminded himself again. He didn’t _care_. This was just… this was…

“Akechi,” Akira said, and his voice was definitely rougher than it had been before. “Can I tell you something?”

“All right,” Akechi managed to say.

“Promise not to freak out?”

Akechi let out a single-syllable laugh. “I think we’re past that point, Kurusu.”

After an agonizingly long pause, Akira took a step closer, sliding his body up against Akechi’s at last. He wrapped his arms around Akechi’s waist – Akechi shuddered at the touch – and he let his chin rest on Akechi’s shoulder. In the mirror, their eyes met.

“I want to suck you off more than anything else in the world right now,” Akira said.

Akechi’s breath caught.

He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know where all this was going, that he didn’t know what he had signed up for the moment he agreed to Akira’s idiotic suggestion, but hearing Akira say it, so vulgar and raw and heavy with arousal, was more than Akechi could handle. He could try to wrestle with his self restraint, but he knew he had lost that fight a long time ago – the moment he walked into Akira’s attic.

_Soon_ , he thought… soon, this would all be over. Akira would be dead, and Akechi could rinse his hands of this nonsense forever.

So then, would it really be such a big deal if he used Akira, just one more time?

“Well,” Akechi finally said, placing his hands over Akira’s and gently prying them away, giving himself enough space to turn around. The corners of his mouth turned upward in a sharp, heated smile. “You’ve been remarkably accommodating of me today… so I don’t see why I can’t indulge you.”

Akira’s eyes closed and he let out a soft, appreciative sigh. “Come sit down for me,” he said. Akechi walked back towards the futon in a daze, feeling like a rag doll with how much Akira was dragging him around today. He sat on the edge of the bed without prompting, though a lingering sensation of self-consciousness caused him to draw his knees together.

“Shy?” Akira asked, dropping to the ground and worming his hands between Akechi’s knees, pushing them apart.

“No,” Akechi said, but Akira was looking at him with such a hungry intensity that Akechi found he couldn’t hold his stare, and he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Good.” Akira smiled, running his hand from Akechi’s knee up to the inside of his thigh and squeezing. “You shouldn’t be. You look so good like this… I can’t believe I got you to dress up for me,” he said.

_‘For you’_ , Akechi thought, wrinkling his nose and turning his lip up into the beginning of a sneer, but then Akira curled his fingers around the outline of Akechi’s cock, moving his hand just enough that the fabric caught and dragged, leaving sparks of pleasure in its wake, and Akechi’s expression melted into something far less aggressive. He gasped softly and Akira, emboldened, rubbed his thumbs in little circles over the fabric adorning Akechi’s hips and – he really did have a thing for this, didn’t he?

Akechi sighed and leaned back, eyes to the ceiling. He was already embarrassingly hard, and he could feel a damp spot where pre-come had soaked into the fabric, and after what? Trying on some skimpy lingerie and watching Akira lust after him?

But that wasn’t right, was it? No, he’d been buzzing with anticipation since the moment he found Akira and dragged him to the Metaverse. This whole time, he’d been waiting for… this, apparently.

It was then that Akira released his hold on Akechi’s dick, but only so he could hook his fingers under the elastic and pull the panties down enough that he could _really_ take hold of him, and Akechi had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the noise he was about to make when Akira’s bare fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft.

_This is bad,_ he thought. Being friendly with Akira was already risky; being this intimate with him was almost certainly a colossal mistake. He supposed he could try to feign disinterest – yes, he could imagine it, how good it would feel to look down his nose at Akira, harden his eyes, and make Akira realize his place _(right where he already was, right where Akechi wanted him to be)_ —

But then Akira opened his mouth and licked the head of Akechi’s cock, and oh _god_ , aloof was not going to be an option, not with the tremor of pleasure that shot through Akechi’s body at the barest of touches. His legs felt weak and he was glad he was sitting, because he wasn’t sure he could support his own weight right now.

Akechi chanced a look in Akira's direction, and he found Akira staring at him, looking all the more dangerous with the way he peered up through half-lidded eyes, partly obscured by his bangs. He was so close, his lips pressed against the tip of Akechi's dick, his breath coming in hot little puffs that made Akechi's skin tingle. And once he saw that Akechi was watching, Akira parted his lips and sank his mouth fully over Akechi’s cock.

The sensation was instantly overwhelming, like nothing Akechi had experienced before, Akira’s mouth hot and wet and so welcoming. For a moment he just sat there, consumed by the feeling of Akira’s lips tightening wet and firm around him, of his tongue swirling and licking away pre-come, of his fingers wrapping tightly around what his mouth couldn't reach.

“ _Oh_ , Kurusu-kun…” he murmured, his voice unnaturally soft, breathy, like he was about to lose himself in Akira’s touch – but then Akira’s movements stilled and he looked up, surprised and blinking curiously from behind his glasses, and Akechi realized he had said those words out loud.

_Shit._ Akechi cleared his throat. But this was fine; this was… salvageable. He pushed a tuft of hair behind his ear and forced a smirk to his face – and it _was_ a smirk – it had to be; he couldn’t imagine the alternative, that he was smiling shyly down at Akira, about to egg him on even further. “I – I mean, you look so cute like this, Kurusu,” he cooed. “Won’t you touch yourself for me?”

Akira moaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut. His hand dropped to his lap, fingers just fluttering over his own length before he whined and slid off Akechi’s cock with a wet pop. He shook his head.

“Can’t,” he said. “I’d come as soon as I did.”

“O-oh,” Akechi stammered, and that was the end of that, because in the next moment Akira wrapped his lips around the head of Akechi’s cock and pulled him back into his mouth, his tongue gliding along the underside and coating him wet with a mix of spit and pre-come.

A shuddering breath rocked Akechi’s frame and he dug his fingers into the bed sheet, forcing his hips to lie still. Akira wasn’t making it easy on him, but it wasn’t even the act itself that was toying with Akechi’s mind; it was the simple sight of Akira, flushed and hot and making tiny, pleased noises in the back of his throat as he took Akechi deeply into his mouth, that really made his heart race.

When Akira tongued at Akechi’s slit, Akechi’s hand flew to his mouth and he had to bite down on his thumb to keep from moaning. This motion was obviously not lost on Akira, who slowed his pace, pulling back and flicking his tongue against the sensitive head – Akechi’s cock twitched; Akira grinned – before letting him go, his mouth replaced with a hand, pumping Akechi with a few lazy strokes.

“Hey,” Akira said (and Akechi couldn't help but notice how he was breathing harder now), “You don’t have to hold back.”

“I’m not…” Akechi said. He realized, however, that he still had a hand over his mouth. He lowered it slowly. “I’m just quiet.”

Akira looked at him with a skeptical eye. “Okay. I just want you to know, no one can hear you but me.” And then, in a much lower voice, he added, “Futaba’s only bugged the café, not the attic.”

Akechi blinked. “You’re joking,” he said. Akira simply made to go back to his task, but Akechi was faster, pulling Akira back loosely by his hair. “Kurusu,” Akechi said, more firmly this time. “You’re joking, right?”

A mischievous smirk crossed Akira’s face, and Akechi's hold on his hair faltered. “Let me hear you, okay, Akechi?” Akira asked. “No holding back.”

But Akechi wasn’t going to do that, wouldn’t let Akira have that satisfaction. He bit his lip and sucked in a breath through his nose when Akira thumbed over the head of his cock, rubbing it slick with pre-come, licking a long stripe up the side before enveloping him in his mouth again.

A whine got stuck in the back of Akechi’s throat as Akira pushed his head forward as far as he could, all while trailing his hands over Akechi’s waist and around his backside, groping his ass underneath the lace. Akechi could feel his pulse coursing through his body, drumming loud and fast just beneath his skin, his cock so hard it was aching, throbbing in Akira’s mouth. He averted his eyes and stared pointedly at the wall.

Why couldn’t Akira have just asked to fuck him? Then at least Akechi wouldn’t have to _see_ him, could have spent this whole encounter face-down on the bed, wouldn’t have to look down and see Akira sucking on Akechi’s cock with eager, greedy enthusiasm. He was rocking his hips forward, too, trying to grind against nothing, and Akechi couldn’t believe that Akira was fucking _getting off_ on this.

It wasn’t fair, the way Akira could enjoy himself so brazenly in a way Akechi couldn’t. It must be nice to be a thief, not having to worry about what society thought of you… but then again, it wasn’t like they were being watched right now (assuming Akira was lying about Futaba having bugged Leblanc – Akechi was going to have to get to the bottom of that mystery later on). Rather, it was true what he’d said before: the only person who could hear him, see him right now, was Akira – Akira, who had asked him here; Akira, who _wanted_ him here; Akira, who was practically begging him to fuck into his mouth with the way he flattened his tongue and hollowed his cheeks and…

He had permission, so it was okay to give in, right?

The last of his self restraint dripped away and Akechi allowed himself to move, rolling his hips forward to meet Akira’s mouth. Though he seemed momentarily taken by surprise, Akira quickly recovered and hummed in delight, and a moan flew out of Akechi’s mouth before he could even think about stopping it.

He wove his fingers into Akira’s hair, tugging gently, which Akira obviously appreciated; he groaned against Akechi’s length, sucking so tightly that Akechi’s hips jumped forward involuntarily, pushing hard into Akira’s mouth – too hard, perhaps, because Akira’s eyes flew open and Akechi felt his throat close as he tried to suppress his gag reflex.

“I’m sorry,” Akechi hastily apologized as Akira struggled to regain his breath. He combed his fingers gently through Akira’s unruly hair. “Don’t let me hurt you...”

At this, Akira slowed, dragging his lips back until only the head of Akechi’s cock remained between them, and he turned his eyes up to look at Akechi. His chest was heaving, eyes watery, and Akechi thought the expression on his face would have been impossible to read even if he didn’t have a cock in his mouth.

Then he closed his eyes and dipped forward, relaxing his throat and taking Akechi to the hilt, sucking hard.

Akechi threw his head back and let out the most shameless noise he’d ever heard himself make. How was Akira so good at this? Was it experience? Natural talent? Or was Akechi so desperate for attention that even the clumsiest of techniques would have reduced him to a shivering mess in mere minutes?

“Kurusu-kun,” Akechi moaned his name freely this time, relishing the way it rolled off his tongue; “ _Kurusu—_ c-close, I’m close,” he gasped, trying to pull himself away. Akira held fast to him, though, fingers curling into Akechi’s hips to hold him in place, and god, he was about to come in Akira’s mouth and Akira was going to _let him_ , and that was enough to send him over the edge.

His whole body must have been trembling, shivering with pleasure, and he thrust shakily into Akira’s mouth while he came; Akira’s movements turned shallow, slowing down for the sake of coaxing him through his orgasm, sucking and swallowing until Akechi’s stuttering hips had stilled and Akechi had released his hold on Akira’s hair.

Akechi fell back onto the bed, breathing hard. There were little voices in the back of his head trying to get him to focus, but for the time, he couldn’t hear them. He felt warm and content and he couldn’t help the smile that came to his face.

That was amazing. Akira was amazing.

In his periphery, Akechi saw Akira stand up, face flushed and a little shaky on his feet as he climbed up onto the bed beside Akechi.

“Akechi,” he said, “can… can I—?”

“Kurusu,” Akechi cut him off, reaching out and touching Akira’s arm, the only part of him he could reach. “After that? We can do anything you want. Anything.”

Admittedly, “can I kiss you?” was not the question Akechi thought Akira was going to ask, but it wasn’t an unwelcome question all the same. Akira hovered over him and kissed him with wet, swollen lips, and Akechi arched up into the touch, sliding his tongue across Akira’s lip and tasting the remnants of his orgasm. They kissed inelegantly, Akechi feeling too dazed to bother coordinating, and Akira far too riled up for anything more restrained.

Akira’s shirt was scratchy against Akechi’s bare, oversensitive skin, and it made Akechi realize just how clothed Akira still was, a situation he wanted desperately to rectify. Their kiss broke only briefly as Akechi pushed himself into a sitting position, Akira taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around Akechi’s shoulders, snaking a hand into his hair and pulling him close.

With one hand, Akechi curled his fingers around Akira’s neck, and with the other, he dipped below Akira’s waistline, eager to pay him back for how handsy he had been earlier. He didn’t get far, however, before he brushed across something soft and silky, and with the way Akira stiffened the moment Akechi touched him, there was no doubt in his mind what Akira was wearing. Akechi smirked against their kiss and pulled back just enough to speak.

“Kurusu, are you hiding something? That’s not very nice,” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice, which he contrasted with a sharp squeeze to Akira’s ass. When he heard Akira whine pitifully, he pulled his hand away completely and sat back on his legs.

“Show me,” he commanded.

Akira was visibly trembling as he stumbled off the bed, hastily unbuttoning his jeans. Akechi could hardly believe he was once again being treated to the sight of Akira slowly revealing himself – twice in one day, even. How lucky.

“It’s not as nice as Joker’s,” Akira said, tugging nervously on the end of his turtleneck, “but...”

Akechi couldn’t attest to its quality, but the silky matte black panties _were_ different; they were tiny, for one thing, or maybe it just seemed that way because Akira’s cock was so hard the head was poking out over the top, straining the fabric so much it looked like it might hurt.

Haphazardly kicking his jeans off to the side, Akira crawled back onto the bed where Akechi immediately pulled him into a feverish kiss, teeth scraping against his lips in haste – but Akira didn’t seem to mind, taking Akechi’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucking. Akechi pressed a hand against Akira’s chest, willing him to lie down, and it wasn’t long before Akira was sprawled out on the bed beneath him. He looked deliciously disheveled, with his shirt riding up over his belly button and a streak of pre-come smeared across his abdomen.

“Look at you,” Akechi murmured, and he meant for it to sound cruel, taunting, but it came out affectionate anyway, not in the least because he took the time to smooth a hand over Akira’s hair, pushing damp bangs aside to reveal his eyes, blown-out and hazy with lust. “This must be torture,” he said.

“Yeah,” Akira panted. “So why don’t you show me some mercy, Akechi...?”

“Well... you’ve earned it, I suppose,” Akechi said.

He practically dragged Akira into his lap, shifting so they were sitting back-to-front at the end of the futon. He trailed a hand around Akira’s waist, running his fingers teasingly over Akira’s hips, smiling against his back when he heard Akira take a sharp inhale. They stayed that way for a moment, Akechi enjoying both the weight of Akira pressing against him and the sounds he made when Akechi palmed him over the lace.

But he didn’t have the heart to drag it out any further, and with barely any effort at all, Akechi pulled Akira’s cock out completely and wrapped a hand around him. Akira squirmed, and oh, Akechi could get used to this, to having Akira writhing beneath his touch. He felt so nice, obscenely wet and hard, and it was easy for Akechi’s hand to slide over him with purpose.

Akira groaned, tipping his head back until he could just barely see Akechi’s face from the corner of his eyes. “I’ve… wanted you to touch me like this for so long. I’m lucky… so lucky,” he said, his speech peppered with breathy little gasps.

Akechi paused, momentarily caught off-guard by Akira’s admission. “Lucky,” he repeated with a soft half-laugh. “Like you haven’t been planning this. Look at what you were wearing, before you even knew what I wanted. You hoped this would happen.”

“Hoped,” Akira agreed. “But I never imagined—” Akechi flicked his wrist and squeezed, and Akira’s breath hitched. “God, Akechi,” he moaned.

“Shh,” Akechi murmured, pressing his lips to the soft skin behind Akira’s ear before trailing lower and sucking on his neck. Akira gripped Akechi’s thighs so tightly he thought they might bruise, and then Akira was lolling his head back and coming with Akechi’s name on his lips, spilling over Akechi’s hand and onto his own stomach.

Akechi stroked Akira languidly until he was fully spent, at which point Akira slumped forward, rolling out from between Akechi’s legs to lie more fully on the bed. Akechi smiled despite himself and wiped off his hand on the inside of his shirt, making a mental note to toss it straight into the laundry once he got home.

The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and Akechi was reminded again of how cold the attic was, the sticky come on his skin starting to cool and dry uncomfortably. The feeling was sobering and brought him back to himself, to the growing sensation of dread settling in his chest that he'd tried hopelessly to ignore. He couldn't, though, not when Akira’s words, spoken in the throes of his orgasm, were still ringing in his ears.

“Hey,” Akira said. His breathing was starting to return to normal now. “That was… really amazing. So thanks for indulging me.”

“Did you mean what you said?” Akechi asked instead of replying.

Akira blinked at him. “…yeah?”

“I mean earlier,” Akechi clarified. “What you said about… this.” He nearly choked on his own tongue and shut his mouth, unable or unwilling to put his feelings into words.

“Oh.” Akira seemed to understand anyway; he sat up and inched his way closer to Akechi, stopping when their legs bumped together. “Yeah, I did. Every word.”

Akechi couldn't respond, and indeed couldn't bring himself to do anything but allow Akira to lean in and kiss him again, a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. His hand came up to cradle Akechi’s chin, his thumb grazing so gently across his cheek, and Akechi felt pressure like a vice tightening around his heart.

When they separated, Akechi averted his eyes. “It’s late,” he said, although it really, really wasn’t; the sun set so early in November that while it was dark outside, the night had barely begun. Nonetheless, Akechi persisted. “I should really go.”

“You could stay, you know,” Akira said. His hand was still on Akechi’s cheek. “Stay the night. No one would mind.”

Akechi could tell Akira already knew what his answer would be before he even finished the question. He shook his head, chasing Akira’s hand away, and began to button up his shirt again. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” he said.

If Akira was upset by his response, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply nodded, and it wasn’t until Akechi went to remove his borrowed panties that Akira spoke again, his hand darting out and taking Akechi by the wrist.

“Wait,” he said. He couldn’t look straight at Akechi, his eyes hidden beneath his glasses, with a blush returning to his cheeks – or had it ever left? “Wear them home?” he asked.

The question caught him off-guard, but once he fully processed it, Akechi couldn’t help but laugh. “Careful, Kurusu,” he said. “I’m starting to think you have a fetish.”

Immediately, Akira turned an even darker shade of red, and he started to stammer out an excuse.

“But fine, I’ll grant you one more wish,” Akechi said, though he wasn't sure what compelled him to do so.

It was, perhaps, the closest he could get to admitting aloud that he had enjoyed himself.

So he did as he said he would, stuffing his boxers into his briefcase and wiping himself up as best he could so he wouldn’t stain the inside of his slacks, and Akira made himself decent enough to walk him to the door, where they said a stilted goodbye in front of Sojiro, who thankfully seemed wildly uninterested in what they had to say. 

He walked home in the cold, made uncomfortable less by the mess drying between his legs than by the lingering image of the raw, honest emotion Akira had shown him, and the knowledge that he would never be able to shake that memory.


End file.
